


And the wolf

by notallbees



Series: Omega Sylvain Week [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alpha Marianne von Edmund, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, F/M, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Sylvain Jose Gautier, Other, Possession, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rape/Non-con Elements, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23854267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallbees
Summary: He'd been walking for ten minutes or so when he heard something in the forest. He paused, tilting his head to listen. It could have been a fox, or perhaps a wolf. Plenty of creatures roamed the forest, but were harmless so long as one took care not to disturb them. He stood still for several moments, head cocked; whatever it was, it seemed to be growing closer.Sylvain takes a shortcut home, and meets with a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Omega Sylvain Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718962
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88
Collections: Omega Sylvain Week





	And the wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helwolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helwolves/gifts).



> Hi welcome to [#OmegaSylvainWeek](https://twitter.com/notallbees/status/1246062099152977923)!
> 
> Please note this story contains spoilers for Marianne's paralogue/general storyline. 
> 
> Please also read the tags: this story contains non-con. Also note that I generally write omegas with vaginas or as intersex.
> 
>   
> Lastly this fic has [ACCOMPANYING ART](https://twitter.com/jaspurrlock/status/1256568455286964226) by the amazing jaspurrlock!! :3c please show her some love!! (PLEASE BE AWARE IT'S NSFW AND GRAPHICALLY DEPICTS NONCON)

It was late when Sylvain parted from the alpha he'd spent the night flirting with, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he began to head back in the direction of the monastery. It was long past the time that students were expected to be abed, but Sylvain had found a way to sneak in via an underground tunnel, so with any luck he could sneak past the night patrols without getting reported to Seteth again. 

Leaving the town behind him, Sylvain cut across a field and plunged into the forest surrounding the base of the monastery. There was a dagger in his boot, but he didn't expect to meet trouble this late at night. He hummed softly to himself as he walked. He'd let the alpha cop a feel in the alleyway behind the tavern, but it hadn't been a very… _rewarding_ experience, and with his heat coming on, Sylvain was eager to get back to his room and take care of his _own_ needs.

He'd been walking for ten minutes or so when he heard something in the forest. He paused, tilting his head to listen. It could have been a fox, or perhaps a wolf. Plenty of creatures roamed the forest, but were harmless so long as one took care not to disturb them. He stood still for several moments, head cocked; whatever it was, it seemed to be growing closer. Sylvain swallowed down the lump in his throat, forcing down his momentary flash of fear. He turned back in the direction of the monastery and began to walk again, picking his way along the overgrown path. It was only ten more minutes to the passageway that would lead him back into the monastery, less if he walked quickly. 

To distract himself, Sylvain hummed a song in his head, but he hadn't gone far before he realised he could still hear something moving behind him. He paused. In the silence, the sound of something moving through the undergrowth drew nearer. It moved quickly, coming steadily closer to where he stood. Abandoning his fears that he might look a little foolish, Sylvain tore off through the trees. He ran, tripping and stumbling, breathing hard. It followed. His foot snagged on a tree root and he went down hard, falling face first into a muddy puddle. Swearing, he scrambled upright again, but he'd lost valuable ground; whatever stalked him was getting closer, knocking aside branches and tearing up the undergrowth in its pursuit. 

Fear filled his throat, bursting up from his chest like bile, suffocating him even as he ran. He could see the cave entrance ahead, but his pursuer was gaining. Running into the cave would only make it easier for the thing to take him. Against all his instincts, Sylvain forced himself to stop, and quickly reached for the dagger in his boot as he turned to meet his pursuer. The undergrowth trembled, and then a figure burst forth from the bracken, issuing a terrible cry like the wailing bark of a fox. It was human-shaped, if rather bedraggled, and it moved in more or less a human fashion, stumbling when it first emerged from the undergrowth, then finding its feet after a few moments.

As it straightened up, a shaft of moonlight illuminated the figure, and Sylvain felt a shock of recognition snap through him.

"...Marianne? Is that you?"

The figure swayed closer, enough for the moonlight to catch on her face, illuminating her gentle expression for a brief moment.

Sylvain sagged, a breath of relieved laughter spilling from him. "Saints, Marianne," he said, lowering his dagger. "You frightened the life out of me." He took a step toward her. "What brings you out here so…" He trailed off as she swayed into the moonlight again and he was granted a proper impression of her. The look on Marianne's face wasn't gentle at all, it was strange and twisted, and looking closer, he could see that her hair was coming loose from its usual tidy braid, disordered hanks torn free. Her clothing was ripped and dirty, and there were scratches on her face and arms. "What happened?" he asked, hearing the fear creep into his own voice as he lowered it to a whisper. "Is there something out there?"

Marianne opened her mouth, but a sound issued forth that was nothing like her usual soft, demure tones. It was a growl, low and fierce, starting behind bared teeth and then rising as she opened her mouth wider. Startled, Sylvain fell back a step.

"...Marianne?" He still gripped the knife tightly in his sweaty palm. "What's wrong?"

She stared back at him, but there was no recognition behind her eyes, almost as if another watched through them. After a moment, she began to walk toward him. Her movements were strange and sinuous, and as she approached, she raised her hands. Where her fingers should've been instead were claws, long and blackened and fearfully sharp. Sylvain turned and ran, his heart hammering in his ears. Too late. He'd only gone a few steps before a weight crashed into him and bore him to the ground. Sylvain yelped and tried to scramble free, but his assailant dug sharp claws into his sides, causing him to cry out in pain. 

"Stay still, you filthy bitch," a rough voice hissed in his ear. The voice sounded nothing like Marianne. 

"Wh-who are you?" Sylvain whispered, gasping through the pain of his wounds and the tightness of his winded chest. 

Filthy laughter answered him, echoing through the nearby trees. Marianne pressed her weight down on his back, and a hot mouth breathed against the back of his neck. "You came into our woods to beg for our crest," the voice growled. 

"What? N-no—"

"We could smell you from a mile away," the voice continued, as Marianne tugged his collar aside with her teeth. "Begging to be claimed." Low, dirty laughter ruffled the hair on the back of his neck. "If you survive, perhaps you'll have the gift of our crest growing inside you."

Sylvain's eyes burned. "Let me _go_ ," he spat, trying to struggle against it. He flung his elbow back but missed, only grazing it. 

In answer, Marianne wrenched her claws from him, making him yelp, then began to pull and tear at his clothing, uncaring if she scratched him in the process.

"Wait—stop—!" Sylvain cried when he realised what she was doing. It was no use. His shirt was shredded on his back, and he could feel the cool breeze on the backs of his thighs where his trousers had been torn also. Hot rivulets of blood began to run down his skin. Panicking, Sylvain tried to struggle, but a clawed hand clamped down on the back of his neck, and ground his face into the dirt. She was inhumanly strong; all he could do was squirm ineffectually. 

"Struggle if you wish," the voice growled, and he felt hot breath on his neck again as Marianne leaned over him. "We like it when they struggle."

Sylvain made an involuntary sound, a pained whimper which he choked off quickly. It was answered with a low, filthy chuckle, reminiscent of a gurgling drain. Then her hands were on his hips, lifting him onto his knees. He scrabbled at the dirt, trying to get away, but Marianne leaned over him and rested one heavy clawed hand between his shoulders. The weight of it forced him to arch his back into her heat, and the stench of rutting alpha rolled over him, thick and overpowering, and just tinged with the familiar floral scent of Marianne's hair and clothing. 

"Please," he gasped. "Marianne, or—whoever you are, please, _stop_."

"Mmm, that's right," Marianne growled, pulling at his torn clothing. "Let us hear your pathetic little pleas for mercy."

"S-stop," Sylvain gasped, when those claws pushed through the gaps in his clothing and he felt her leathery palm against his cunt, rubbing back and forth. He was momentarily relieved she was keeping her claws away from his cunt, but then she found his entrance and hooked a clawed finger inside of him. 

Sylvain whimpered, trying his best to remain utterly motionless. He tensed in anticipation of the pain, but it still made him whimper when she fucked her finger into him a couple of times. Testing the fit. 

"So wet, little slut," The voice growled against his spine. "Yet you are strong. Yes, yes, you'll be a fine vessel to carry our crest."

Sylvain's stomach turned, and bile rose in his throat, almost choking him. He swallowed heavily, trying to keep control of himself, not to let on how frightened he was. He'd endured brutal treatment before at the hands of some of his less salubrious romantic interests; of course, most of those times he'd asked for the rough treatment. Even so, this was little different. He just had to grit his teeth and bear it until it was over. 

"Not going to fight us, slut?" the voice growled, sounding almost disappointed. "We know what you are, little Gautier. We see the shape of your crest. Weak and thin, diluted by ages. You even lack the strength to fight back."

Sylvain said nothing; he wouldn't fight, wouldn't beg. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was take a knot without complaint. 

There was a snarl at his shoulder, and he winced and hissed through his teeth when Marianne raked her claws down his back again, drawing blood. Apparently tired of taunting him, she moved to mount him instead, pressing her hips against his backside. He whimpered when her cock slid between his legs, huge and hot, squelching through the wet folds of his cunt. A stone settled in the pit of Sylvain's stomach, cold and heavy, making fear yawn wide in his chest. 

She started to hump against him like a dog, her cock slipping and squishing uncomfortably against him, before it finally caught in the mouth of his cunt and slid home. 

Sylvain gasped, his whole body going taut when Marianne thrust her cock deeper. It was the biggest he'd ever taken by some margin, and he got the sense it would've hurt even if he hadn't already been so tense.

"What a good little bitch," the voice crooned, and then broke off into that horrible, gurgling laughter once more. 

"No, no, _no_ —"

Sylvain opened his eyes at the sound of the whisper. It was different to the voice that had been taunting him. He wondered, briefly, if some other poor soul had chosen to take a shortcut through the woods and stumbled across this scene. But unless they were armed, or a particularly powerful mage, he doubted any bystander could do much to help him. He tried to turn his head to look, but he could see nobody, only moonlight filtering down through the trees, and the stark, black trunks. 

"Please, please stop—"

Confusion briefly dulled the fear that was crowding out all sense from Sylvain's thoughts; He recognised that voice; it was Marianne. Truly her, not this deep, twisted version of her. 

"Silence, filth," snarled the monstrous voice, and thrust into Sylvain harder, filling him to the hilt. He let out a shocked wail as pain split him apart, and the voice cackled gleefully. "Mm, we're going to fill you with our seed, little Gautier."

"No, _stop_ , please. You're hurting him, Maurice _please_ —"

It was Marianne again. Sylvain squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tune her out; he didn't really understand what was happening to her, but he knew what was happening to _him_ , and Marianne's weak protests weren't making it any easier to bear. Without warning, Marianne suddenly ceased her punishing thrusts and hooked a clawed hand into the back of his shredded shirt. Seizing a handful of the torn fabric, she hauled him upright, sliding those, leathery hands over his chest.

"We can tell you're fertile," the voice growled in his ear. "Young and ripe." One of Marianne's hands slid down, cupping his abdomen, before sliding lower, pushing into his torn trousers to palm at his wet cunt. "No use pretending you don't like it. We can smell the heat stink coming off you."

Sylvain whimpered, canting his hips involuntarily into the wretched touch. He tried again to struggle free, but the hand on his chest slid up to wrap tight around his throat. He drew in a sharp breath, stifled by Marianne's strong fingers closing around his windpipe. 

"Beg for our knot, little one," the voice urged him, Marianne's hand palming at his clit while she rolled her hips against him, grinding deep into his cunt. 

Sylvain opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Marianne sobbed, "Stop, stop it!" 

" _Beg us_."

"Nn, please," Sylvain grunted, his voice coming thready through the pressure on his throat. If it knotted inside him, at least that meant it was almost over. "G-give me—your knot—"

The voice cackled again. "That's better. We can see why this one likes you, little Gautier. So eager to give yourself away…" 

Sylvain whimpered again, and it was with some sense of relief that he felt himself go limp, his body no longer resisting, melting against the body that was driving into him. Marianne released her grip on his neck and his cunt and let him fall back into the mud, moving to grasp his hips again so that she could drive her cock into him, over and over, pushing weary grunts out of him with each impact. She had stopped protesting, and the only sound was of Sylvain's weak, pained noises, and the animal grunts of the voice over him as it rutted against him like a beast. 

It stilled finally with a guttural roar, and a punishing thrust that left him whimpering, and then there was just the overwhelming heat and pressure of Marianne's knot swelling to tie them together, pressing almost painfully at his insides and the raw, swollen mouth of his cunt. Marianne sank over him on all fours, breathing hard, and then all of a sudden, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, she collapsed on top of him. Sylvain grunted as the air was forced out of his chest a second time, but unlike before, the weight on his back was much less. 

When there was no more sound, no movement except the soft rise and fall of Marianne breathing against him, Sylvain grimaced and took stock of himself. He was bleeding all over, but he wasn't badly injured. He shifted his hips experimentally, but found that he and Marianne were still tied. Probably would be for a while. There was mud on his face, and more was soaking into the remains of his clothes. After a few minutes, he began to shiver, although the weight and warmth of Marianne on top of him kept away the worst of the chill. He hoped she wasn't too cold. 

As he lay there, he thought about what he'd heard; the two voices, the _name_. Sylvain felt like he'd heard the name _Maurice_ somewhere before, but he couldn't recall it over the pain and weariness that had taken hold of him. His cunt was hot and sore, and his abdomen ached terribly, but he'd ached worse than this after a training bout with Felix. He forced himself not to think of it, to focus instead on untangling the mystery of what had happened to Marianne. 

After a little while, he felt the knot begin to ease, and shifting around was able to free himself. A hot rush of fluid gushed out of him, spilling down his thighs, and he grimaced as he gently rolled Marianne off to the side and sat up. He was dizzy and weak, but he managed to gain his feet, wincing at the sensation of more of Marianne's hot spunk running down his legs. Sylvain swayed as he stood, and another wave of dizziness and nausea almost brought him to his knees, but with some effort he managed to stay standing. Once he was certain he wasn't about to collapse, he crouched down at Marianne's side. Her arms were splayed to either side of her, but while neither had claws, there was congealed blood crusted on her fingers and under her fingernails. He tugged her ragged dress back down to cover her—she had no underwear or shoes—and gently lifted her over his shoulders. 

Sylvain didn't remember the walk back to the monastery, or how they ended up at the infirmary. He woke the next morning after a fitful, drugged sleep, to find that the worst of the damage had been mended overnight, although he was still sore all over. He told Professors Manuela and Seteth that he and Marianne had both been attacked by the same creature, and from the other side of the curtain he heard a soft gasp from Marianne. 

"What's the matter with you?" Felix asked later that day during weapons training. "You're lazier than usual. Pick up your lance."

Sylvain laughed to hide his wince when he bent over to retrieve his lance from the ground. "Sorry, Felix. Late night."

Felix wrinkled his nose. "Pathetic. Maybe you should focus on your training instead of who you're going to open your legs for next."

A momentary shudder ran down Sylvain's spine, and his hands tightened around the lance. He forced a grin. "Maybe!" 

Felix was still spitting at him when the class finished training and began to make their way to the dining hall for their evening meal, and charged on ahead. Sylvain lagged behind on purpose, not in the mood for making conversation about classes, or who had been caught kissing whom behind the greenhouse. In the dining hall, he took a seat at the end of the table, and laughed noncommittally at whatever it was Ingrid and Ashe were discussing. 

"Sylvain?"

Sylvain looked up. Dimitri was watching him expectantly from across the table. "Uh—"

"Are you alright, my friend?" Dimitri asked, smiling at him. 

Sylvain was not alright. Sylvain was empty, and cold, and full of poison. He forced a smile. "I'm fine, Your Highness."

"Then...would you mind passing the salt?"

It was clearly not the first time he'd asked. Sylvain grinned and passed him the salt shaker. As he withdrew his hand again, he felt the prickle of eyes on him. He glanced across the hall and found Marianne watching him from the far table. Their gazes met, and her eyes widened, face flushing. She looked quickly away. 

Sylvain kept watching her. After a few moments, Marianne's gaze darted back to him. Her face was still pink. This time, when their eyes met, she held his gaze. She licked her lips.

Sylvain looked down at his own plate, the food he'd barely touched. Suddenly he'd lost what little appetite he had. He thought of the weight of Marianne's body on top of him. The heat of her huge cock thrusting between his legs. 

He wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> [find me on twitter](https://twitter.com/notallbees/status/1256572033523224576) | [share the art](https://twitter.com/jaspurrlock/status/1256568455286964226) | [my three houses fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/works?fandom_id=23985107)


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